


No Second Guesses or Secret Signs

by BrighteyedJill



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, College, Communication Failure, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Getting Back Together, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-02 16:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles got his heart broken when Derek left Beacon Hills, and he is not going to allow a repeat performance.<br/>--</p><p> </p><p>  <i>“I won’t bother you.”</i></p><p>  <i>“Too late. Really too late. I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish, but I’m going to make this real simple for you. I’m not interested. All of that mess in Beacon Hills is behind me, and I am not. going back. to that.” Stiles snatches Derek’s jacket off the neighboring chair—the leather is as buttery soft as he remembers—and holds it out. “Get out.”</i></p><p>  <i>Derek swipes his books off the desk, shoves them under his arm, and stomps out of the back entrance of the lecture hall without his jacket. Stiles glares after him, marveling that Derek’s dedication to stalking extends to buying the outrageously expensive Intro to Behavioral Psych textbook</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	No Second Guesses or Secret Signs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [healingmirth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/healingmirth/gifts).



> Title from Josh Ritter’s [Here at the Right Time](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=twqtfqGNrP8).

Stiles stops in the middle of the sidewalk, blatantly blocking the flow of students rushing to their nine o’clock classes. A moment ago he’d decided not to stop for coffee, because his Intro Econ class is all the way across campus, but now coffee and class have dropped far, far down the list of priorities, because, as history shows, the appearance of Derek Hale always throws Stiles’ carefully laid plans completely out of whack. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Walking.” Derek stares straight at Stiles, not even bothering to look ashamed at being caught somewhere he is obviously out of place. 

Stiles waves a finger in Derek’s face, heedless of how close he is to very, very sharp teeth. “I am out of that life, understand? I am not getting dragged into some werew—“ He bites back the incriminating word, and risks a quick glance around to verify that no one has overheard him. “ _Weird_ life or death crisis bullshit. I am retired from that nonsense. So do _not_ come around here expecting to drag me back down. You got me?”

Derek looks like he’s swallowed some kind of small woodland creature that’s still fighting for its life in his stomach, but his eyes do not glow any alarming colors, and claws do not make an appearance. “Yes.”

“Good." Stiles shoves his hands in his pockets. “Go away.”

“You stormed up to me,” Derek points out, but he sidesteps Stiles and disappears into the flow of students.  
\--  
 _  
Stiles chews on the end of his pen, mostly to give his mouth something to do other than drool. Even after months, he can’t get used to seeing Derek in his bed. Sated and naked is an especially good look on him, Stiles decides, though he’s yet to discover any look that does Derek a disservice._

_Stiles doodles on the form he’s supposed to be filling out. His mind won’t settle down; he always gets this bust of energy after sex. In contrast, orgasms tend to make Derek relaxed and pliant. He doesn’t often fall asleep in Stiles' room, but it’s happened twice this week. Stiles takes this as a good sign, a sign that Derek feels safe enough to let his guard down here._

_Stiles tries again to focus on his paperwork, but he’s only managed to re-read the first sentence of the instructions four times when Derek’s voice interrupts him._

_“What is that?” Derek’s propped himself up on his elbows and is frowning down the length of the bed._

_“College application. Everyone has these super-specific extra questions. Why can’t I just do one and be done with it? I mean, even if they accept the common application, they want you to do a supplement. Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of a_ common _application?” Stiles stops waving around his pile of papers when Derek sits up and, criminally, pulls the rumbled sheets up to his waist. “What?”_

_“Where are you applying?”_

_“MIT, Carnegie Mellon, Northwestern. A bunch of places.” Stiles pulls a few brochures out of his ever-growing stack and holds them up. Derek glares at them like they’re Argents. “Derek, what?”_

_“Nothing.” He flings off the sheet. “Come back to bed.”_  
\--

When Stiles catches Derek holding a tray at Crossroads, Derek tries to walk the other way. Stiles abandons his place in line for the waffle bar—that’s how serious the situation is—and blocks Derek’s escape.

“Why are you still here?” Stiles demands.

“I haven’t come near you.”

“No, you’re just lurking.”

“I don’t lurk.” Derek clenches his jaw. “Anymore.”

“Look.” Stiles leans in and lowers his voice. “If there’s something terrorizing Beacon Hills, I’m sure there are many more qualified monster hunters you can get to do your research.”

“You think--?” Derek’s eyebrows try to make a break for it, then seem to give up and settle into a straight line. “Monsters.”

“And okay, yes, I am _rocking_ my minor in folklore, but I’m not interested in _field studies_ , if you know what I mean.”

Derek’s expression fades into careful blankness. “Yeah.”

“Okay. Fine. Good.” Stiles gets back in line for waffles, but even though he loads them up with a massive amount of sprinkles, they don’t really taste that good.  
\--

_Stiles picks up the pile of mail from the kitchen table as they walk past. When he sees his name on a thick letter, he unhooks his fingers from Derek’s waistband and pauses on the stairs._

_Derek turns when he gets to the landing. When he sees Stiles ripping open an envelope, the amused anticipation he’s been radiating since Stiles whispered an unbelievably filthy promise in the car starts to dim. “Another acceptance letter.”_

_“Looks like.” Stiles reads the opening paragraph twice, just to make sure, but yeah. Northwestern wants him._

_“Congrats.”Derek ventures back down one step._

_Stiles flings himself into a one-armed hug, punctuated with a quick kiss, before he goes back to perusing the letter. “This is great. If I go to Northwestern, I can do their summer institute, maybe shave off some time, graduate early.”_

_“Northwestern.”_

_“Yeah. It’s in Chicago. Well, Evanston, but whatever.” Stiles is on to the second page, the financial aid award. He can’t hold back his grin. “I mean, flights home would be kind of expensive, but there’s Skype, texting, all that.”_

_“Your dad will worry.” When Stiles looks up, Derek is staring at the letter like he could set it on fire with his eyes. Stiles hands it over, because he knows Derek will just snoop anyway. Derek takes it, too-firm grip crumpling the edges as he reads._

_“When doesn’t he worry? I’ll come home as often as I can. And you can keep him company, right?”_

_Derek hands back the letter. “You should call him. Tell him the news.”_

_“Yeah.” Stiles fumbles to get out his phone without letting go of the letter. “This’ll just take a sec.”_

_Derek is already out the door._  
\--

Derek looks comically too big for the room’s uncomfortable seats and their tiny fold-up writing desks. As soon as Stiles spots Derek, he charges into the next row down to lean in and menace with maximum efficiency. “This is going too far.”

“It’s a lecture class.” Derek looks around, but everyone else is staring at their phones or reviewing the reading. No one’s going to interrupt.

“So you thought it would be easy to just blend in? You thought I wouldn’t notice?”

“There’s only one section,” Derek mutters.

“How do you even—never mind.” Stiles doesn’t need to know the details of Derek’s stalking methods. “You should leave.”

“I won’t bother you.”

“Too late. Really too late. I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish, but I’m going to make this real simple for you. I’m not interested. All of that mess in Beacon Hills is behind me, and I am not. going back. to that.” Stiles snatches Derek’s jacket off the neighboring chair—the leather is as buttery soft as he remembers—and holds it out. “Get out.”

Derek swipes his books off the desk, shoves them under his arm, and stomps out of the back entrance of the lecture hall without his jacket. Stiles glares after him, marveling that Derek’s dedication to stalking extends to buying the outrageously expensive Intro to Behavioral Psych textbook.  
\--

_Stiles reaches out to find a distinct lack of Derek on the other side of his bed. He blinks against the pale sunlight spilling in through the curtains and burrows his way out of the tangle of sheets._

_Derek is sitting on Stiles’ desk chair, entirely too dressed for this early hour. He’s tying his shoes. Stiles thinks he could probably watch Derek tie his shoes every day and consider it time well spent._

_“’Morning,” Stiles rasps. He receives a noncommittal grunt. “You subverbal, still? Guess I should take that as a compliment.”_

_Derek pushes to his feet, tugs open the door, and stands there, hands pressed against the door frame like he’s afraid it’ll start shrinking and crush him. “I’m leaving.”_

_“Bye.” Stiles swipes the pillow from Derek’s side of the bed and pulls it over his face to block out the sun. “My dad has an overnight shift. Come back after ten.”_

_“Stiles, I’m leaving.”_

_Derek’s tone makes Stiles struggle out of his blanket cocoon and sit up. “What?”_

_Derek hasn’t moved from the doorway. He won’t look at Stiles, which is a bad sign, because normally he doesn’t stop looking. “I have to go.”_

_Stiles swallows hard. He is being broken up with. Derek is leaving him, and Stiles isn’t even wearing underwear. He isn’t prepared. He’d thought—But he’s wrong, obviously, because Derek is hunching his shoulders more with every second of silence that creeps by. Stiles manages to ask, “Where?”_

_“Away.” Derek says it with finality, like it explains some important point, when really all he’s saying is “you don’t have a right to know.” Because Stiles has no claim on Derek._

_“Uh… Why?” Stiles asks. He can hate himself later for giving Derek even a glimpse of how much this hurts, but he has to know._

_“There’s nothing for me to…” Derek turns a little in the doorway, looks down at the floor. “I mean, you’re almost done. With everything.”_

_“Wait, I thought…” But they’d never actually said this is a long-term thing. Never talked about it at all, really. Stiles has been building this up in his mind to be something it’s not, because he is a stupid, stupid individual, but Derek doesn’t need to know that. Stiles can pretend it’s fine. Pretend he knew. “Okay. So…”_

_“Good.” Derek turns quickly. “Have a good time at Northwestern.” He closes the door behind him._  
\--

Stiles is looking at Derek’s jacket draped over the back of his desk chair when he opens up the contacts in his phone. 

Scott picks up on the second ring. “Hey!”

“Hey, how’s everything?”

“Decent. Really decent. I’m holding down the fort while Dr. Deaton is away this week, so it’s kind of hectic. How’s Berkley?”

“Warmer than Evanston.” Stiles digs the heel of his palm into his forehead, as if that could pin down his racing thoughts. “Listen, is there any… trouble at home?”

“What kind of trouble?”

Stiles snatches away the hand that’s been fiddling with the sleeve of Derek’s jacket, like maybe Scott could hear that over the phone. “Of the, uh, lupine variety.”

“Oh, no. Not that I know of. Why? What’s wrong?”

“So there’s not some… mysterious menace the pack needs my help with?”

“Did you have a dream or something?” Scott laughs. Stiles has missed that sound. “Have you been eating Pixi Stix before bed again?”

“No. No, man.” Stiles laughs at himself, because, yeah. When he puts it in words, it all sounds kind of paranoid. The next questions spills out before Stiles’ brain can catch up with his mouth. “When’s the last time you saw Derek?”

“Derek Hale?”

“Do you even know any other Dereks?” Stiles doesn’t. What kind of a J-Crew model name is Derek, anyway? Derek. De-rek. Derrrrek. 

“Um. More than a year ago. Just before graduation. Same as you. Why?” Now Scott sounds curious. And a curious Scott is a dangerous Scott. 

“Nothing. Uh, just wondering,” Stiles says quickly. “Hey, I gotta go. Say hi to Allison and your mom for me.”  
\--

_In the spring of his freshman year, Stiles puts in a transfer application at UC Berkeley. He brings the acceptance letter to show his dad when he flies home at the start of summer break._

_“But… You loved Northwestern.” His dad frowns at him over the breakfast table._

_“Yeah. I know. I just…” Stiles pushes his eggs around his plate and tries to put into words the persistent feeling that’s been simmering under his skin for a year, since he’d been blindsided by a loss he should have seen coming. “I want to stay close to the people who matter. You never know what’s going to happen.”_

_“Is everything okay, son?”_

_“Yeah. It’ll be fine.” Stiles looks up from his plate and offers up a smile. “It’s just… time to focus on what I really want, what’s really important.”_

_“Just know I’m here for you.” His dad sips his coffee. “Whatever you need to do.”_  
\--

Stiles finds him on the first floor of the library, alone at a big oak table, barricaded by three stacks of books. He eases into the opposite chair and slides one of the book piles aside. “Derek.”

“I can’t sit in the library now? Maybe you should draw me a map. Mark all the places I’m allowed to be.” Derek grabs his messenger bag from the back of the chair and pushes to his feet.

“Sit down. We need to talk.”

“You’ve made yourself pretty clear.”

“Sit down.” Stiles realizes his voice has risen above library-appropriate levels, and tones it down. “Please.” 

Derek sits.

“Okay.” Stiles folds his hands on the table and leans in. “I need you to answer some questions, and I need you to be truthful.”

“I’m not a liar,” Derek snaps.

“I know. I guess you never have been.” Derek manipulates, Derek is reticent, Derek leaves out really important details, but Derek isn’t actually a liar, Stiles realizes. That should make this easy, right? “Okay, first: are you a student here?”

“What do you want, a tuition receipt?” Derek glares until he realizes Stiles isn’t going to accept that as an answer, then says, “Yes, I’m a student.”

“How long?”

“Since last fall. I have some credits from… before, so technically I’m a second-semester junior.”

“Uh, wow. Okay.” Stiles hasn’t been able to wrap his head around the idea of Derek in a receiving-knowledge-in-a-classroom situation, despite all the evidence he should have picked up on. But if this is in fact Derek’s second college stint, he must be pretty serious. “What’s your major?”

Derek raises an eyebrow. “Is this really relevant?”

“Is it a secret?”

“Sociology.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” When Stiles keeps staring, Derek sighs heavily. “It’s not the study of being sociable, Stiles.”

“Well, obviously, or you would have failed out by now.”

Derek’s glare lacks heat.

“When did you know I was here?” Stiles asks.

“Last week, when you saw me over by West Gate.” Derek looks down at the table. “I caught your scent and followed it. You were supposed to be in Illinois.”

“I transferred.” 

Derek frowns up at Stiles, but he doesn’t ask why. Doesn’t tell Stiles it was a dumb idea, or a defeat. He just gives Stiles his full attention, as if he could read an explanation in Stiles’ heartbeat. 

Stiles should tell him. Should say, “I felt like I was running away.” Or “I had unfinished business.” Or “Having my heart broken made me reevaluate my priorities.” Instead, he says, “Why did you leave Beacon Hills?” 

“I think we’re done here.” Derek starts shoving books in his bag. Stiles grabs his hands, and Derek stills.

“Look. Back then I had this idea that I could go away to school and come back, and everything could keep going just the way it was. Lots of people do the long distance thing. Then when you left I figured it was your way of saying you were done. That you weren’t interested in waiting around.”

“That’s not why I left.” Derek stares down at Stiles’ hands covering his.

Stiles waits.

“Earlier, you said you were done with… all that. Everything in Beacon Hills.”

“You’re not a thing,” Stiles points out.

“I’m not a man, either.”

“I don’t cut people out of my life just because they’re werew—they’re weird.”

Derek tugs his hands free and settles them on his knees. “No, just when you’re done with them.”

Stiles blinks, repeatedly. Pieces are starting to come together. Arguments are formulating. Conclusions are being drawn. Ideas are organizing themselves into concise topic sentences supported by evidence drawn from impeccably cited sources. 

“I can transfer. Or take some time off until you finish." Derek digs his fingers into his jeans. "If you want to—“

“No. No, no, no.” Derek’s head snaps up, and Stiles falters under his gaze. “I mean, unless you don’t want to be—“

“No.”

“Okay,” Stiles says slowly. He doesn’t want to make any sudden moves, in case it disturbs the fragile understanding he’s just putting together. “This isn’t long distance.”

“What?”

“This.” Stiles waves a hand across the table. “It’s a pretty close distance. A convenient distance.”

Derek raises both eyebrows.

“You didn’t actually drop Behavioral Psych, did you?”

“Not yet.” Derek’s suspicion is not abating. But Stiles can do something about that. 

“You can borrow my notes from this week, if you want. I could bring them by. And then we could get some dinner.”

“Dinner.”

“Like a date,” Stiles says, to clear up any confusion. He expects to be doing that a lot in the future: clearing up confusion with Derek. “The notes are just a pretext. I’m asking you on a date.”

Derek watches him for a long moment during which Stiles does not blush, nor cower, nor take back what he said in a fit of self-doubt. He’s standing by his words, and it seems to be working. Eventually, Derek says, “Okay.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Stiles starts to pick up Derek’s books. “So, that’s what clear communication looks like. It’s this new thing I’m working on. Uh, you might want to get used to it, because I’m going to be practicing kind of a lot, mostly on you.”

“Fine,” Derek says with a sigh, but he doesn’t stop Stiles from carrying his books when they walk out together.


End file.
